I Don't Believe You
by AgentDiNozzo13
Summary: One of the hardest things for victims of abuse is being told they aren't believed. Just my take on the scene where John talks about his home life and Andrew says he doesn't believe a word of it. My first fic in years, I know I'm pretty rusty! Please be gentle. Any advice/critique is more than welcome!


**A/N: This is my first time writing for the Breakfast Club fandom, and my first time writing a fanfic in general for several years. I don't know how this will turn out, I'm pretty rusty. It is based on the scene where John talks about his home life and Andrew says that he doesn't believe it. For many victims of abuse one of the hardest things to deal with in regards to reactions from others is not being believed. As we all saw in the movie it made John very upset, so this is my take on that scene from inside the mind of John Bender. Rewriting scenes that have already happened in a movie or TV show isn't exactly my strong suit either, so I apologize for not capturing everything quite right. Please don't be too cruel, I know it isn't my best… Enjoy!**

"Alright, what about your family?" Andrew asked after John had finished his performance.

"Mine? That's real easy." he replied and stood up again, walking to the back of the room. He rubbed his chin for a moment as he got into character, then began pointing his finger into the air as he spoke in a deepened voice, clearly annunciating every word.

"Stupid, worthless, no-good goddamn free-loadin' son-of-a-bitch, retarded, big mouth, know-it-all asshole-jerk!" he said and crossed his arms. In a higher pitched tone he continued, "You forgot ugly, lazy, and disrespect- shut up bitch! Go fix me a turkey pot pie." He yelled, finishing in a deeper voice.

He continued the dialogue between himself and his father, switching between his normal voice and a mock-version of his father's.

"What about you dad?"

"Fuck you."

"No, dad, what about you?"

"Fuck you!"

"No dad, what about you?" he yelled, raising his voice.

"FUCK YOU!" he yelled hoarsely and swung his fist into an imaginary head, then jerked back as though he had been on the receiving end of the blow.

"Is that for real?" Brian piped up from the corner.

"You wanna come over some time?" John replied sarcastically.

"That's bullshit. It's all a part of your image I don't believe a word of it." Andrew said from beside him.

John paused for a moment, his jaw tensing.

"You don't believe me?"

"No."

"No?" he retorted, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Did I stutter?" Andrew replied, keeping his gaze locked on John.

John couldn't believe what had come out of Andrew's mouth. He had heard those words far too many times in his time. He didn't expect to hear it here, amongst the people he had come to think of as friends. He felt a knot form in his stomach as anger boiled up inside of him. He stared at Andrew in disbelief as he walked over to his chair and leaned down, pulling his sleeve up to expose the underside of his forearm.

A quarter-sized scar was made visible just below the crease of his elbow. He held it in Andrew's face as he spoke.  
"Believe this? Huh?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Claire look away. "About the size of a cigar. _Do I stutter?_"

Andrew was the next to avert his eyes, obviously regretting his previous statement. John didn't pay that any mind, however. He could feel the pain of betrayal heavy in his chest. He continued on as the scene from his past replayed in his head.

"See this is what happens in my house when you spill paint in the garage." He backed away and pulled his sleeve down as the emotions inside of him threatened to boil over. He held his hands up mockingly as he backed further away from the group.

"See I don't think that I need to sit with you fuckin' dildos anymore." His voice faltered for a moment as his attempt at humor failed to lighten the situation.

John turned around and began walking forward until he got to a large desk underneath the library staircase. He paused in front of the desk and in a sudden burst of anger he grunted and yelled as he swiped all of the books and sent them crashing to the floor. In an attempt to get away from the four others he jumped onto the desk and quickly scaled the side of the staircase, settling on the opposite side with his legs hanging down and his arms resting on the metal bars beneath the railing.

He pressed his head against the wooden railing, leaned his chin against his hands and closed his eyes. For several moments he focused on breathing deeply as memories flashed through his mind. He didn't understand why nobody ever believed him. He did lie and exaggerate the truth constantly, he didn't deny that, but with something as serious as that you'd think somebody would take the time to check it out and see if he needed help. They never have though, and they never will. Not a single teacher, guidance counselor, doctor, or friend has ever taken his stories seriously. They all blow it off and accuse him of trying to bolster his bad boy image.

That was something he really never understood. Why would somebody want to lie about being in a position like his? Having parents who hate your guts and beat the crap out of you daily isn't exactly something to be proud of.

He grunted again as the anger was replaced with a growing feel of sadness that ached inside of him. He usually tried his best to hide his feelings about his home life from those around him; he wasn't sure what compelled him to let some of it out now, in front of four complete strangers. He relaxed his tense body and remained lost in thought as the other four talked behind him in hushed tones, likely discussing his outburst.

It had been an emotionally draining day already, and it was far from over.

**A/N: Not very good, I know. I'm so rusty :/ Please review if you can, any advice or criticism is always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!**


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